


Nicotine ((KLANCE FANFICTION))

by chloeellings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Keith and Shiro are Siblings, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Fluff, M/M, Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloeellings/pseuds/chloeellings
Summary: Lance McClain is a normal seventeen year old boy with a normal life a seventeen year old boy in the small town of Stawford was supposed to have. He was young, in love with the girl from his biggest dreams, and had two friends that he could count on.His life had been blessed and normal for as long as he could remember, but when Keith Kogane — a transfer student from New York — shows up in his sleepy town, the star-loving boy’s life was seemingly flipped upside down.*also available on Wattpad





	Nicotine ((KLANCE FANFICTION))

The grey-paved sidewalk was slicked in rain and a thin layer of kicked up dirt. The clouds hung heavily over head and the trees in lawns and the ones surrounding the nearby — presumably empty — park blew eerily in the early morning breeze. There was no light to speak of, which was typical during the mornings in the small town of Stawford. The place was virtually unheard of and vacant from any maps Lance McClain had ever seen; consisting of a little over six-thousand people and only two high schools the seventeen-year-old-boy could think of off the top of his head. It was as cliche as any old, ancient small town in the books — a single library located in the center of town, rooted on a round-about road with virtually little to no parking space, a park of which stood crowded every afternoon near the aforementioned teenagers house with rustic swing sets and a play structure that looked like it could topple down at any given moment. There was an old grocery store next to the pharmacy, and a mall next to that, across the street laid the elementary school — K through eighth — where Lance and a pair of his friends attended when they were small. The rest of the town was occupied with stuffy neighborhoods filled with either old people or the middle-aged with teenagers and small, rambunctious children. 

Lance’s small town of Stawford was nothing short from uneventful and painfully boring, but the one thing that kept the boy grounded there was the sky. It was his focal point, his saving grace, his muse for his elaborate art pieces that seemed to speak a lot about him for just being a vivid replica of the thing he held so dear. Though, the sky during the day was great and all when the clouds finally gave in and traveled elsewhere, but it always seemed to be clear at night, exposing its wide array of stars splayed across its gorgeous canvas. 

To Lance, that was more then enough to keep him in that stuffy town, for he knew no other place would hold a treasure such as that one.

Lance was a fortunate boy. He was born from two loving parents and had quite the hefty handful of older brothers and sisters, though all of which had up and moved out a long time ago. He was blessed with the many nieces and nephews his said siblings granted him, and he had two friends that seemed to stick to him like glue. Lance knew that he was one of the lucky ones, for most of the people who moved to his town were single parents and their kids. People wanting a chance of escaping whatever it was that seemed to be chasing them through life; but not Lance. Lance was born in that small town. He was raised there. Hell, he even planned to die there. That was his home, and no matter how unbearable it could be with the constant rainfall in the winter to the blistering heat in the summer, he would stay there — content.

Even as he yanked his collar over perfectly tanned face and head of brown hair to protect himself from the relentless morning shower, trudging to school with his navy Vans backpack strapped tightly around his shoulders. Even with his soggy sock that kept collecting water through the torn sole of his right shoe and how he was shivering like mad from the layer of water seeping in through his dark blue flannel and white T-shirt. He’d never leave, and he kept telling himself that.

Eventually, the boy slumped through the front gate of Stawford High School, accompanied by enough water dwelling in his shoe to nurture a small pack of llamas and a sleepy glare resting on his porcelain face. 

He stomped through the empty courtyard, sauntered through the semi-filled hallways with a few eyes glued to his sopping state, and turned into the high school’s library — where two familiar figures sat at their usual table in the far left corner, away from everyone else who might slip inside the huge library and right next to the window, showing the wide veranda of the back field where Physical Education was held. 

The first to pop their heads up was Hunk Garret; a Samoan boy Lance had met in the first grade. He was kind and bubbly and had a talent for machinery and cooking, which was a weird combination to Lance, but after a bit of mental debating, it didn’t really matter as long as he got a few treats out of him. Even by the door of the library Lance knew that Hunk was far better prepared for this sudden shitstorm weather; for he was decked in an orange rain coat with a dark grey sweater under that. His dark brown tuffs were succumb by a matching beanie, and the look on his face screamed “idiot” at the sight of his soaking — and clearly irritated — best friend.

The smaller, petit girl sitting beside Hunk was Katie Holt, otherwise known as Pidge by her closer friends. She had short, caramel brown hair and eyes to match. Her glasses seemed to glare over her wide hues as she glanced in Lance’s direction, a similar look of Hunk’s crossing her face at his sorry state. Her black rain coat hung on the back of her chair, and covering her thin waist was a dark green turtle neck that looked to be hugging all of her body heat.

Lance languidly sulked forward, shoulders sagging and head hung low enough to brush against the ugly carpet he walked along. 

“What’s up, Soggy Bottom?” Pidge jeered, earning a deadly glare as Lance plopped down in the seat across from Hunk.

“Can it, pipsqueak.” he muttered, crossing his arms and burrowing his rear further into the uncomfortable seat cushion. 

“You know it rains almost every day here, Lance.” Hunk reasoned, chancing his friend the same look he granted him when he walked in.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “So what? Maybe I thought the weather would be different for once. It wasn’t raining when I left my house.”

“You should never challenge nature.” Pidge told him, turning her gaze back to the thick covered book in her hands.

Lance flared his nostrils and sighed. “Man, I can’t go to class looking like this!”

“It’s not like Allura is going to care, anyway,” Pidge sighed, turning the page. “She only knows you exist because you’ve been hounding over her since freshman year.”

Lance grunted. “That’s stupid, she’s totally into me.”

“Yeah,” Hunk laughed humorlessly. “Totally into getting away from you.”

This commented prompted a snicker out of the tiny girl to his left and an agitated tongue click from Lance.

“You guys are just jealous of our relationship!” Lance justified, kicking another fit of giggles out of his friends.

“What relationship?” Pidge was the first to question, finally pulling herself away from her book to look at him again.

“Lance, I think it’s ‘bout time to let that dream die,” Hunk slapped a hand on his shoulder. “She shoots you down literally every time you try asking her out.”

“Are you that inexperienced?” Lance brushed a confident hand through his chocolatey hair. “She’s obviously playing hard to get.”

Pidge snorted, throughly deflating Lance’s attempts at redemption. He slumped back against his chair again and proceeded in crossing his arms tightly over his chest, pouting at the wall lying across from him. 

It was true, despite the many rejections and humiliations, Lance had quite the obvious crush on the dazzling art student, Allura Smythe. She was cheery and had beautiful dark skin and bright, lively blue eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever she looked at you. She was talented in the aspects of pastel art work and photography, being the number one art student at Stawford ever since Lance had begun his four year journey through high school. Lance had been hypnotized by her charm and grace since the day the pair met, and the rest was history.

The bell ringing pulled Lance begrudgingly to his feet, unwilling to sulk his way to his first period art class with said dazzling girl to be mocked without her having to say anything. One look at Lance would have anyone snickering, whether it be openly or not.

“Try not to slip on your way out, Soggy Bottom,” Pidge advised, looping the strap of her faded book bag around her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to damage that pretty little face of yours and make you even uglier than you already look now, would ‘ya?”

Lance scowled. “I’ll be just fine, thank you.“

With that, Lance slung his bag over his shoulder and glided out of the library like he would every other day, except sopping wet and profusely shivering.

After shoving his way through other students within the halls, Lance managed to stumble inside his classroom with the immediate scent of stale paint flooding into his nostrils. Unable to cringe at the odd scent, he sat down on his stool in front of the art table and slammed his forehead against its surface, letting a long sigh filter through his lips.

“Lance,” a familiar, strong British accent was like music to his ears as the boy shot up, meeting the dazzling hues of Allura as he did so. “You’re soaking, are you feeling ill?”

Lance smiled goofily — or in his mind, handsomely — and leaned forward on his elbow. Allura discreetly shimmied backward.

“I’m perfectly fine now that you’re here, my lady.” He winked and his pearly teeth seemed to sparkle, yet Allura still openly frowned and rolled her eyes.

“Glad to hear it.” She deadpanned, flipping her white hair over her shoulder before swaying over to her own seat, leaving the Cuban boy staring longingly. 

Yep, totally into me.

“Alright students! Settle down, I have a few quick announcements to make before class begins this morning!” Lance was yet again yanked away from his thoughts by his overly quirky teacher, Mr. Smythe, clasping his hands together. 

Lance’s blue eyes trailed up to the man with the mustache as his fellow classmates hushed their conversations. After a moment or two of Mr. Smythe glancing around to be sure that it was completely and utterly silent, a crooked smile slithered across his face.

“Happy Tuesday to you, kiddos!” He began, letting his hands fall to his hips. “We’ve got something nearly unheard of here at Stawford High School!”

Lance sighed impatiently, leaning forward in his seat as Mr. Smythe surveyed the room again.

“We’ve got a new student joining us today,” he declared, turning his gaze toward the still opened classroom door, prompting everyone else to mirror him in his movements. “You can come on in now!”

At the invitation, a boy unlike Lance had ever seen slowly crept into the room. He was a sight for sore eyes in terms of something definitely out of the ordinary. His hair was black and styled in a mullet, with thick bangs falling over his forehead. His skin was almost unhealthily pale, and he was dressed in a slick leather jacket, a red T-shirt, black jeans with holes ripped in the knees, and a skateboard held loosely in his right hand while his left was occupied in clutching the black Jansport backpack that hung on his back, littered in a variety of pins Lance couldn’t name. 

The mystery boy made his way to Mr. Smythe’s side, stoic faced with his midnight-purple eyes downcast to the tile beneath his booted feet. 

“Go on,” Mr. Smythe encouraged. “State your name and why you chose this class as an elective.”

Lance found himself interested in the boy that seemed to be someone you’d find in a sad romance movie. His blue hues were locked on him as the new kid silently looked up, eyes half lidded and almost exhausted. They didn’t shine glamorously like he had expected them to. 

“I’m Keith Kogane,” he began, his voice soft and almost timid, but also hinting a slight curve of irritation to it. A collective, discreet sigh seemed to cycle through the room at the sound. “And I’m a photographer. Photo collages are my thing.”

He gestured to the expensive looking camera around his neck that Lance had neglected to notice before. 

Keith looked to Mr. Smythe, who had been smiling contently at Keith’s answer before gesturing to the free seat beside Allura on the far right side of the room. Lance’s eyes followed him unsurely as the seemingly dark boy set his things down with a level of carefulness that didn’t seem necessary. He watched how delicately Keith handled his camera and how slow he was at unlooping it from around his neck to set it down on the table. Lance noticed the small smile he exchanged with Allura, and a sudden bubble of jealously grew in his throat. 

Lance ripped his eyes away irritably, not exactly fond at the idea of more competition in the fight for Allura’s heart.


End file.
